#still might make necklaces/earings out of these ones

[tickettride]

It's hard for you, my baby || J.D.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x f!reader

in which your bad relationship with your mother reaches a peak and it’s nearly impossible to hold it in, until Johnny finds a way to calm you down.

word count: 2,4k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), mentions of alcohol, angst ++, slight violence

AN : ah! prepare yourselves to see this gif approximately ten thousand times in your TL from now on

The sun dipped farther, the sky streaked in pink, and the chatter behind you only grew louder.  

You couldn’t count the number of times you’d woken up to one of the guys passed out on the couch, empty bottles of beer gracing the floor. It had become a habit, one that didn’t upset you so much anymore. Except for that one time. 

The urge to yell at everyone to get out and leave you alone in this big house was strong, but you resisted it, just as you’d just miserably resisted your mother’s threats an hour before. You’d been calm about it until then, waltzing around the room to make sure every man had a beer. A poor excuse to make you think of anything but her fingertips on your cheek.

Now that you were standing uselessly by the window, the anxiety was creeping up and making it harder to breathe. So you cleared your throat awkwardly, pretending to be interested in the colors streaking the sky. 

“We were waitin’ for ya, flower,” Corky nudged you playfully, eyeing the daisy necklace you wore, almost identical to your socks. 

It also matched your flowery pants perfectly, both part of the peaceful persona you were famous for. Though you’d never told the Vandals, you wished you were one of the voices of that peace movement that sometimes put up posters on walls. Sexual revolution, it said. Though you’d stayed there standing in shock the first time, you couldn’t suppress the smile that came upon your lips every time you walked past it now. If the world was changing, you were willing to be a part of it. And it started with wearing flowery clothes that always made Johnny smile, shaking his head at you. 

“Can’t let anyone die of thirst, can I?” you joked nonchalantly, though you refused to meet his eyes. 

Your cautiousness morphed into panic when Corky remained silent for a second and asked what was wrong, catching some other men’s attention. Kathy peered up from her seat too, a concerned line etching her forehead. What could you tell them? That your mother blamed you for each of her misery? That she had grabbed your arm so tightly you could still feel her fingertips on your forearm, stiff as brambles? 

Toying with your necklace, you offered Corky a rueful smile and replied that it had been a long day. That wasn’t a lie, though. 

At the same moment, you met Johnny's eyes, standing in a corner. You briefly wondered why he hadn’t taken off his jacket. He might have been planning to go out for a smoke again, or show someone the renovation work he’d done in the garage. 

His gaze flitted down to your shaky fingers around your necklace, and a crease instantly appeared between his brows. He knew something was wrong. 

With your mother’s words in mind, fear ran like ice through your veins. There were too many people everywhere, their voices muffled as though underwater, and your thumb numbed from gripping the pendant so tight, now sizzling against your clammy skin. They were all crushing you, deafening you. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled to no one in particular, crossing the room in large steps. 

All you could think about was being alone. In complete silence. So you strode upstairs and burst through the bedroom, gasping for breath and rushing to open the window. The wind whipped your face hard as you leaned over, like another slap. You could still hear your frantic heartbeat thrumming in your ears, but at least no one asked you questions here.

“The fuck you’re doin’?” Johnny’s high voice made you jump backward, a hand resting on the windowsill. 

For better and for worse, they’d said. You trusted Johnny to take care of the worst. 

“What?”

“What the fuck you’re doin’, leanin’ over the window?”

Johnny came closer to shut the window with more strength than necessary and turned back to you. You were already sinking on the bed, bending forward from all the pressure on your back. Though now, your hands couldn’t stop shaking. You stared at them in shock, your breathing echoing in the room. It was mad, the influence she had on you.

“Oh, God,” you creaked out, entranced by the fear that had spread through your veins. 

Johnny said your name a couple of times, but he sounded so far. You tilted your head from side to side, searching for an escape to this despair that clawed at you. I’ll die because of you. The only thing you’ve accomplished is gettin’ married; don’t get used to it. 

“Look at me,” Johnny’s voice cut through the haze, clutching your hands between his big palms, tearing into your thoughts. “C’mon now, look at me. What’s goin’ on?”

Through an avalanche of heavy tears, your chest heaving, all you could do was shake your head. It was too hard to utter the words. It wasn’t fair to share your pain with him when he’d looked so serene just a minute before. 

Leant to your level, Johnny scrutinized your expression. Then, like on the rare occasions you cried, he went to sit beside you and pulled you into his arms. It was never so intense, usually. You were woozy with exhaustion and dread, convinced that it would never get better. Your mother would find you again, and she’d make you feel even worse. Again and again. 

Choking out into a rough cough, you felt yourself shaking even more at the realisation that you couldn’t breathe anymore. She was going to kill you. 

“Hey, hey,” Johnny stroked your hair out of your face. “You’re all right. Not gonna let anythin’ happen to you, you hear me?”

Your grip on his jacket tightened. It was nearly impossible to calm down when you could still hear her voice so clearly, telling you how worthless you were. It was engraved in your brain like the moment you’d first kissed your man, and the moment he’d asked for your hand. On the same level. And it hurt like hell.

You wanted to bang your head against the wall so hard it’d make the words vanish.

“Breathe. Take deep breaths.”

“She slapped me.”

The weight of what you’d just said made Johnny freeze for a long moment. 

“What’d you say?”

“Rita. I bumped into her at the grocery store and—and I couldn’t avoid her.”

“Fucking Christ,” Johnny muttered, holding you a bit tighter and stroking your hair. “What’d she do to you?”

The relief of having him so close to you allowed you to speak more freely. How much longer could you have looked out the window to the raging fire outside and convinced yourself it was a beautiful day?

“I tried to be tough, you see, and I told her we got married. And she—she started yelling. I was so ashamed, Johnny. I told her to lower her voice, and she slapped me. Right there, in the middle of everyone.”

“That fuckin’ hag,” you heard him grumble, tightening his hold on you. 

“She makes me feel so fucking low.”

“You’re tough, yeah? You’re a tough one,” Johnny whispered in your ear, resting the back of his fingers against your cheek. “Don’t know anyone else who’d do half the things you do. She’s mad she didn’t get to live the life you’re livin’. That’s on her.”

Hot tears went on spilling down your face despite his words. You heaved a sigh, forcing some air into your lungs, although it felt stuck somewhere down there. You wished you had some response to that, maybe a word in agreement, but it would have sounded fake.

“I’m so hot,” you choked on another sob, pulling away from that big man who’d doubtlessly confront that monster of a woman on your behalf. 

Johnny swallowed another curse when he got up, crossing the room to get tissues before you could even ask. And he watched you blow your nose, tossing the tissues on the floor. He obviously wasn’t sure what to do, standing there awkwardly. You didn’t either. So you stared up at him, hoping a solution would spring from his eyes somehow, and feeling strangely that she’d taken more with her than you knew how to explain.

After some time, maybe seconds or minutes, Johnny sat beside you and tapped his thigh gently, beckoning you to sit on his lap. 

“Come here.”

You did. 

“Take off your shirt. I’ll take mine off.”

Exhausted from holding back these feelings and letting them all out at the same time, you didn’t ask what he was on about and peeled off your shirt. Your eyes stung, but you folded it neatly before placing it on top of his jacket, on the covers. He wiped your forehead with his white tee, adding it to the pile, crumpling yours in the process.

You had no time to be confused or protest, though. 

“Come here,” he said again. “Give your old man a hug.”

At that, your expression tightened, brimming with the promise of tears. He pulled you in for a hug, the light layer of stubble covering his chin coming down against your temple. Kissing it. 

“There you go,” you heard him mutter, his big palm coming to rub your back in soothing motions despite the clammy sweat clinging to your skin. 

Nothing had ever felt so peaceful—well, except for the awkward sob that escaped you. But you were fine. You were safe. And you had the most loving husband you could have hoped for. Slowly, your sobs softened, and you started rubbing his back too. You hadn’t expected such a sense of calm from simply being close to him, feeling his skin against yours.

Not even the knock on the door made you move. You both remained glued to each other, and Johnny didn’t seem to mind receiving some of the weight of your pain. For better and for worse. 

“Who’s in there?” the man behind the door shouted, and you were certainly grateful that Johnny had thought of locking the door while you weren’t looking. 

“Ignore ‘em,” he mumbled.

And once again, you did as told. 

Johnny squeezed you in a bear hug for so long that you nearly fell asleep right there–which, you thought, he wouldn’t have minded–with your arms around his middle and your legs as numb as your mind. You hung into him while the world underneath celebrated something you realised you still had no idea about, light-headed but definitely better. Or, at least, hopeful. 

A soft kiss brushed the space between your breasts, full of warmth and unconditional love. Another was placed underneath your necklace. 

"I forgot to wear a bra this morning," you squeaked, your words dissolving into an embarrassed chuckle.

“I see that, yeah,” the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.". “Can’t complain about that, can I?”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the tears beneath your wet lashes.

“I wish I’d done more than just stand there, but—I don’t know, I just froze and wished she’d disappear. It was awful.”

“You've done your best. She’d gotten mad no matter what.”

You gave a small nod, not so convinced. Reaching for another tissue next to the pile of clothes, you blew your nose.

“What if she’s there again next time I go?”

“You’ll defend yourself,” Johnny deadpanned, grabbing your arm to see your muscles. “See? You’re stronger than me.”

A chuckle slipped past your lips as you threw the tissue aside. “You’ll teach me the basics.”

“Yeah. I will.”

He looked so sincere that the corners of your mouth turned up on their own, a natural reaction to his face. You were glad he was there, talking to you. Grounding you.

There was no hesitation in his voice when he told you to come closer again, just like there had been no hesitation when he’d decorated the room better after you moved in, just wanting to make it nice and safe for you. Despite telling him a thousand times, Johnny didn’t really get that the thing that made you feel so safe was his presence, not the room itself. 

“I don’t know why shit keeps happening to me,” you sniffled, your lips against his collarbone. “I’m nice to everyone. I’ve never fought. Never misspoke.”

“It’s not you,” Johnny replied, his voice low, reassuring. “The people—don’t let them get at you, yeah? Your kindness is one of the reasons I love you, flower.”

You hummed in response, letting his words linger.

“Show ‘em who’s the boss,” he rubbed a hand up and down your back. “Show her you’re stronger than that.”

Pulling back, you tried to return his smile around the tears stinging the backs of your eyes and kissed him gently. It was hard to explain—as hard as it would be to face your mother the next time she showed up in town—but there was a calmness in your mind he had undoubtedly made happen. The music was loud, and a glass broke downstairs, which should have made you scream, but nothing really mattered anymore.

Resting your hand lightly on his arm, your thumb tracked slowly back and forth over the sensitive crook of his elbow, sending his pulse skittering against your chest. 

The three words left your mouth almost on their own when you met his gaze. 

“I love you too,” he promised, kissing you sweetly. “And I’m proud of you, right? I’m proud of you.”

It was all you needed to hear to smile again, to ease the pain. You carried those words with you when you stepped into the store a week later and, thankfully, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there the next few times either, and each time, it got a little easier. You liked to think it was because of Johnny, but really, you were just a tough one.

[floweringglass]

So on one hand this went better than I was thinking and only had one segment break badly

On the other- I am now contemplating giant glass koi sculptures and just how many thrift shop visits would be required to get enough scales

Going to go against every single ingrained instinct from growing up and break a glass plate...on purpose

[christopher067]

little necklace wip for you today :)

this is a fun necklace that will be coming to patreon tomorrow ♡ i have been wanting to make something like this for a while so I'm so excited to put it out :):)

[applejarjar]

The first sleeve I made for my costume! I'm going as a Druid who can shift into a dragon 🐲

First time making chainmail and actually building a costume myself!

And of course included in the photoset is the necklace that inspired my scalemail, it was a gift I got from my family

The lighting in my house makes everything look so blue but it's all pride themed! Can't wait to take some pics in the sun so the purple can really shine through!!

[seiwas]

you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu

wc: 2.9k

summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".

contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.

a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)

sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

“Bab—”

Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened. 

You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.

He stares. 

That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower. 

His lip trembles, eyes watery.

“Not now, Atsumu.”

You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least. 

The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking. 

“Atsumu,” your voice rings. 

Who the hell is “Atsumu”? 

He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”

Anything but “Atsumu.”

When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor. 

It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do. 

You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team. 

Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you. 

Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too? 

As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling  or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving. 

And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.

You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.

But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line. 

“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?” 

He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.

What he’d give to be able to do that right now. 

“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.” 

When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—

“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?” 

—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company. 

There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you. 

“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.” 

He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side. 

“Baby, I—”

He passes it back.

You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?

You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?” 

He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.

“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.” 

You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike. 

“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.” 

You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug. 

“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—” 

“Can I really believe you next time?”

You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him. 

Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea. 

You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.

It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.

The ball lands on his side of the court. 

And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.

“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds). 

Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to. 

And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space. 

He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.

The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out. 

He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse. 

You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body. 

He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to. 

It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty. 

He doesn’t want to be away from you. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you. 

He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss. 

The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around. 

.

.

.

The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—

He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home. 

Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too. 

His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it. 

Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you? 

He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it. 

That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door. 

. 

.

.

Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there. 

And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits. 

Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not. 

He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance. 

His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.

Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink. 

You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table. 

He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody. 

It makes his chest hurt. 

Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?” 

(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed. 

It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.

Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.) 

He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―

“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady. 

Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―

(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.

Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)

―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―” 

“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.

He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not. 

(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.) 

But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―” 

“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up. 

“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”

(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)

“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.” 

He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—” 

You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.” 

Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. 

He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly. 

“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.” 

“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.” 

“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.

You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you. 

“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink. 

You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.” 

He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car. 

. 

.

.

(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.) 

a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺

thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[lqvesoph]

Brother’s best friend || LN4

gif by @princemick

summary: you’re carlos’ sister and know lando from your brothers time at mclaren but now a few years later feelings might change

a/n: this is literally just a small piece i wrote a few weeks ago

warnings: bit of suggestive talk, alcohol

taglist | masterlist

"When did he get so fine?", you whispered to Rebecca who nipped at her cocktail. "Hmm?", she asked, not having paid attention.

You nodded over to Lando who stood behind the DJ desk, white shirt and headphones on.

Rebecca smirked. "Go over", she said, pinching your side softly. You shook your head. "I can't, you know I can't. If Carlos finds out- and besides I don't think Lando would-", you stopped when you saw Rebecca looking at you with her brows furrowed and a be-fucking-for-real look.

"What??", you defended yourself. "That boy has been crushing on you since 2019, Carlos scared him away back then but I doubt he'll still listen now. He's not 19 anymore", Rebecca told you.

Your heart skipped a beat when she told you but you tried to ignore it. "He's still Carlos' best mate, he won't just betray his trust like that", you shook your head and took another sip from your straw while glancing over to Lando.

"Just get the fuck up and talk to him, it's exhausting watching you two admire each other from afar", Rebecca laughed and pushed you a little.

"Wait he's looking at me as well?", you asked, getting a little excited. She nodded. "Yes, as soon as you're not looking- now for example", she explained.

You turned your head to meet Lando's green eyes piercing into yours through the dark room of people.

You nodded, gripped your drink a little tighter and stood up.

"Hey", you called over the loud music, leaning over next to the DJ desk. Lando smirked and wriggled his brows as a way to greet you.

He asked you something but you couldn't quite make it out and only looked at him with a head shake and a lost expression.

Lando leaned over the desk so his lips were close to your ear. His necklace, hanging down from his neck, being the only thing you could focus on.

"What's in your drink?", he asked, his hot breath meeting your ear. "Vodka Lemon", you called into his ear. Lando leaned back a little and held out his hand, signaling you that he wanted to try a sip.

You knew 2019 Lando never liked alcohol, in fact you couldn't recall a time where you've ever seen him drink. But you wordlessly handed him your glass and let the boy take a sip.

To your surprise he didn't grimace in disgust but took another sip. You reached out for your glass again. "Heyy, get yourself your own", you joked.

Lando laughed and carefully handed you the glass once again, his fingers lightly touching yours.

"You ever stood behind a DJ desk?", he asked, pointing to the mess of buttons next to him. You shook your head.

He held one hand out and wriggled his fingers. "Come on then", he demanded with a smirk and led you to the side where you could enter the private space.

"It's okay, I know her", he told the guy standing next to the small entrance before pushing the hip-high door open and let you in.

"Mi amor", he joked and took your hand. You chuckled and followed him.

"It's so many buttons!", you called into his ear, gracing his cheek slightly with the tip of your nose. His arm draped around your shoulders.

From the close distance you saw his slightly flushed cheeks and glaced eyes, along with the messy curls better than before.

"Come on I'll show you", Lando laughed and handed you the pair of headphones from his head.

He carefully put them over one of your ears, leaving the other free so he could still talk to you. Then Lando grabbed your hand and placed one finger on one of the buttons.

A loud remix-like sound arised and you flinched a little because you could hear it much louder and more clear through the headphones.

"That's so cool!", you called and pushed the button again.

Lando's left arm was still wrapped around your shoulders, his right hand was holding yours and guiding you to press the right buttons in the right moments.

You didn't notice but from across the room your brother starred Lando down with his glares.

"Why is he standing so close to her? He's way too close", he grumbled, taking a sip from his straw. "Let loose, they're not kids anymore", Rebecca smiles, wrapping one arm around Carlos' waist.

"She's 20", he defended you. "Exactly, she's not a child anymore", Rebecca talked to him in a smooth voice.

Carlos nodded but a frown was still visible on his face.

"Why is he touching her like this?", he asked after a few seconds of silence, pointing to Lando's hand that was wandering lower on your back. "Carlos, stop it", Rebecca chuckled and pulled him down on the couch, next to her.

A shiver went down your back when you felt Lando's fingers pushing themselves slightly under your crop top. You leaned into him a little further.

"What are you doing?", Lando softly mumbled in your ear, his hot breath hitting my skin. "What do you mean?", you asked, acting oblivious but pushing yourself further into him.

Lando closed his eyes for a second and his grip tightened around your waist. "Darling-", he hissed. "Lando", you whispered back. "Your brother is watching us really carefully right now", he mumbled against your neck.

"Then let's leave", you suggested, your heart beating because you didn't know if you went to far but Lando's low groan gave you confirmation that he was more than okay to leave.

You quickly put down the headphones that Lando had previously placed on your head. You grabbed his hand and he immediately linked your fingers, his hand feeling warm in your own.

"Cabrón!", you heard a voice yell behind you, immediately recognizing it as your brothers.

"Run!", you whispered but reacted too late as Carlos had already grabbed Lando’s shoulder. "Where do you think you’re going?", he asked, a stern impression on his face.

"Barbados, so we can get married in secret", you replied, rolling your eyes at your older brother. Lando suppressed a giggle and raised his arms when Carlos eyes landed on him again.

"Just taking her out for a spin, I promise I’ll get her back in one piece", the curly headed driver said, standing his ground under the watchful eyes of Carlos Sainz.

Your brother kept mustering the boy until you snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Cut it off, I’m not a kid", you scolded your brother before grabbing Lando’s hand.

"We’re leaving, I’ll see you tomorrow", you yelled back towards your brother and dragged Lando out behind you.

As soon as the fresh air hit your face you turned around to face Lando, still having his hand in yours. "I heard you’re taking me for a ride?", you grinned.

"You know that was an excuse", he laughed but moved towards his car. "Figured, but I won’t pass up on the opportunity to take a ride in your Mclaren", you giggled, turning around and leaning your back against the car. "I might just use you for your car", you smiled innocently.

Lando smirked and came closer, his knee pushing between your legs and his lips almost touching yours.

"Careful, I said I’ll bring you back in one piece, I never said anything about your ability to walk", he muttered, grabbing your waist firmer and pressing his lips on yours.

[itoshiexx]

when you're mad and use their full name

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you're mad and use their full name

pairings: isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro and itoshi sae x gn!reader (separate) | warnings: little arguments, angst if u squint, reader is kinda hot headed? lol, mostly fluff and the boys wanting to be in your good graces.

notes: did i kick depression in the ass to finish this? not really. but it worked, and here i am! this is my nagi seishiro debut omgggg hopefully i did him justice and he's not too ooc. also new design for the scenarios to match my theme. enjoy, lovelies! let me know if you'd like especific scenarios and send me an ask :)

masterlist

ISAGI YOICHI

yoichi hoped he would die. 

really. 

it’s the least he deserved for making you angry — even more so because he didn’t know what made you angry in the first place. he spent the last fifteen minutes excavating his mind to try and remember what could have ticked you off so much that you don’t even wanna look at him.

he hates it. isagi needs your eyes on him, needs to hear your voice and touch your skin. and with the way you’re so silent and distant, he might be just like a man in the desert without water.

“baby,” he looked at you on the other end of the couch, intently watching the tv show in front of you.  just a glimpse would make him breathe again. just a nod would ease his nerves. hell, he would even take a glare, as long as you were looking at him.

but he got nothing. zero. nada.

“baby, please,” he tried again. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you mad.”

you furrowed your eyebrows, but still didn’t spare him a glance. he sighed.

“i’ll never do it agai—”

“do you even know why you’re apologizing, isagi yoichi?!” you asked, exasperated. your boyfriend froze on the spot when hearing his full name, because of course he didn’t. 

as far as he knew, you were having a great day together. he bought you breakfast from your favorite bakery, you made a delicious lunch and then you two went out shopping. he even gifted you with a beautiful necklace after an enthusiastic shop employee offered to show him some pieces—

oh.

“you got jealous of the saleswoman?”

“blah blah you got jealous of the saleswoman? heck yeah I did!” you impersonated him with a high pitched, sarcastic voice that showed just how mad you were. “she was all over you, yoichi, and you didn’t do anything!” 

he swallowed thickly, daring to approach you on the couch. he hugged your frame, despite the crossed arms in front of your chest making it a little hard.

“i’m sorry, darling. i didn’t even notice she was being inappropriate because you’re the only one i pay attention to. and i always figured people would never dare be so bold if you’re by my side and we’re clearly together.”

his sweet words coated you, making you glance away, knowing that looking at his puppy eyes would end you for good. 

“you should have done something anyway.”

“i know. i totally should, and i’m sorry i didn’t. i never meant to make you feel bad or let people disrespect you.” he rested his chin on your shoulder, breath shuddering right on your ear.

the sincerity in his voice was enough to chip away your anger, and you visibly relaxed in his embrace. yoichi held a breath of relief, knowing he still had to be careful.

“i’m sorry, baby. it won’t happen again. forgive me, please?” he placed a sweet kiss on your cheek, and god, how could you keep being mad like that?

damn isagi yoichi and his genuine blue eyes.

you uncrossed your arms, embracing his instead, and finally looked at him with love again.

“fine. but just because you’re so charming, ‘ichi.”

he chuckled. “you’re the charming one. i’m totally under your spell, darling.”

and when your lips met, yoichi hoped to keep living just to have more of you.

NAGI SEISHIRO

people would often ask him if his detached, nonchalant persona ever got in his way through his life. seishiro would always say no, because everything and everyone he did care about understood his lazy way and inability to do… pretty much everything.

that didn’t mean he never made the effort, though. as much as nagi liked to live like a sloth and just go on with his life playing video games, there were still things in his life that were worth it. like football. his friends. and you, of course. 

ever since you met, seishiro discovered that being with you wasn’t a bother. and after he fell in love and you became a couple, he found himself eager to indulge you, even if it meant going out of his way. his friends congratulated him and expressed genuine happiness to see how much he improved, and that, along with your beautiful smile, filled his heart with joy. 

however, no matter how much he tried, he was still…

“nagi seishiro.” 

a shiver ran down his spine with the sound of your voice, and not the good kind. he had never heard you sound so stern, so angry, so… disappointed, even. enough to leave a sour taste in his mouth. so much so he immediately lifted his eyes from his console, only to find your harsh gaze.

“ehh? wha’ did i do, angel? don’t say my name like that,” he pouted, crawling towards your body splayed on the bed. 

even when you tried to fight his embrace, nagi took advantage of his large frame to engulf you and lay his head on your chest, so you wouldn’t walk away in case you got any angrier.

“babeeeee,” he whined, hugging you tighter.

“let go of me,” you said, and he just shook his head. “you deserve it. you weren’t even listening to what i was saying, were you?”

what a hassle. he really wasn’t listening, but… well, he got way too focused on beating the last boss. could you really blame him? 

he heard you scoff. “oh, my bad, i should have known it was the last boss. it’s more important than me anyway, right, nagi?”

fuck. fuck. fuck. did he say that out loud? he sounded like a dick. you had every right to be mad and call him by his full or last name. 

nagi lifted his head from your chest to look at you, feeling his throat tighten with the sight of your teary eyes. guilt gnawed at his chest when seeing how upset and frustrated you were. 

“eh, ’m sorry, pretty thing. i got too caught up ‘n didn’t notice you were talking t’me.”

“am i that invisible to you?” a tear almost rolled down your cheek. seishiro shook his head, a little more exasperated than usual. 

“huh? ’f course not, angel. y’re never invisible. all i see is you. y’re the most important to me,” he held eye contact, and even though you wanted to tear your gaze away, seishiro’s eyes were more magnetizing than ever, even if your view was a little blurry.

you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the type to lie, since he always claimed it was a hassle. you knew you were important to him, but his lack of consideration still hurt. 

“i’ll apologize as many times as you wish. ‘m sorry for not listening and making you feel bad. i never wan’ you to feel bad, pretty thing.” 

nagi used his strength to roll around and switch your positions, in a way you were on top of him instead. he started caressing your hair in a soothing motion, making your eyelashes flutter. “y’can talk as much as you want. i promise i’ll listen t’you.”

your eyes welled with tears for a different reason, and you hugged the striker as hard as you could. even if he faltered, seishiro never failed to make up to you and make you feel loved.

“promise, sei?”

“promise.”

ITOSHI SAE

although sae wasn’t exactly smart in the emotions field, he always knew when you weren’t happy with something. you scowled, huffed and rolled your eyes, keeping an eerie silence that was only broken when absolutely necessary. 

at that moment, he was sure you weren’t happy with him.

you both kept to yourselves while still at the event, masquerading any problems for the cameras. sae had a hand at the small of your back and he could feel how stiff you were. the midfielder wouldn't admit that seeing you so uncomfortable around him made his heart pang.

at the limo, the path to your shared penthouse was quiet, and you brushed him off when he tried to hold your hand. sae could only stare at his window with furrowed brows, itching to dissipate this awkward atmosphere. he never liked when you were mad, especially at him.

he expected some sort of explosion when you got to your apartment, but you kept your glaze off him, trying to walk to the bedroom for your night routine without even sparing him a word. 

nuh-uh. that wouldn’t do. 

he held your wrist before you could go, and lightly pulled you so that you were facing him. your eyes widened with the sudden movement, but narrowed as soon as landed on his face. 

“why are you mad?”

you scoffed. the audacity of this man. 

“you know exactly why i’m mad, itoshi sae.”

shit, the government name? you were really fucking angry.

“i wouldn’t be asking if i knew,” he answered, immediately regretting it when you glared at him, as if saying that wasn’t the right answer. “i-i mean… i didn’t realize what was wrong, amor.”

you walked closer to your boyfriend, making him release your wrist. despite his typical stoic face, sae was clinging to your every word.

“itoshi sae, you can not talk to your little brother like that!” you nearly growled on his face, surprising him. “you were very rude and condescending, and that’s no way to speak to rin!”

he frowned. you were mad because of rin? the little green monster inside of him threatened to grow, but he forced him to stay put. sae didn’t want to anger you further, so he simply let his hands slither to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“i don’t think i was rud—” you lifted one eyebrow, and he rolled his eyes. “fine. i might have been kinda harsh.”

“and?” you crossed your arms.

he sighed. “i will apologize.”

“i’m serious about this, itoshi sae. i will ask rin—”

“i’ll tell him i’m sorry, okay? no need to keep talking about rin.” he interrupted, palms traveling to your ass while he nosed your neck. he planted a small kiss under your ear, huffing a minty breath that made you shudder. sae smirked. “and no need to keep calling me by full name, either. what happened to ‘cariño’?”

you held onto his biceps for some grounding, but still didn’t budge. 

“you weren’t very sweet today, so it’s not fitting.” 

he pouted while hiding in your neck, taking full advantage that you couldn’t see him, but was quick to withdraw to face you once again, touching your noses. one of his hands cradled your jaw, and you sighed with the pathetic effect your boyfriend had on you. 

“perdóname, amor?” he whispered against your lips, eyes sincere like you knew he could be. your poor little heart could never resist him when he was like this, rarely vulnerable and eager for you.

you gave a long exhale, arms moving to tangle around his neck. and folded.

“as long as you make it right, mi cariño.”

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

[mellosdrawings]

The Princes

Ten years later. When marrying a Prince turns a Queen and a Servant into actual Royalties.

Because Vil deserves a real crown and Jamil deserves to be treated better.

NOW I'M GONNA RANT ABOUT MY CHARA DESIGNS CHOICES AND ALL THE DISCOVERIES I MADE WHILE LOOKING FOR REFS! If you only care about art and funny doodles, you can scroll down for a handful of slices of life.

(Don't worry if you can't read my notes, I'm repeating myself better right under this)

Leona

-Lion: As you may know, one of my grievances with Leona is how his hair doesn't look like an actual mane despite being a lion. While I don't want to stray too far from the canon design with the usual drawings, that's the occasion for me to have some fun with a future version. Give that lion a beard and voluminous hair!

-Hair: First, get those bangs out of his face. Despite Leona being very confident, he still has bangs covering his scarred eye. I wanted him to finally own the aspects of him that may be scary to others (his UM, his scar, etc). I actually went with bangs framing his face similar to the ones he had during his Overblot. I wasn't sure whether to give him dreadlocks or curly hair, but I ended up choosing the free curls decorated with some atebas and braids so that Vil could have more fun styling them.

-Eye: Thanks @aria-faye for the idea, I decided to have his eye gradually lose its capacities with time. From a headcanon that, while the eye wasn't directly touched by whatever attack scarred him, the process of healing still had an impact on it and he gradually lost sight in his left eye years after years.

-Body: Not giving him a dad bod (yet, maybe in another ten years), but definitely giving him more voluminous yet casual muscles. Practical muscles with a healthy dose of fat and tissues. Also giving him two full sleeves of tattoos because I decided he should have much more than just his lion tattoo.

-Clothes: Went full Maasai dressing and Kenyan fabrics and beadworks. If you're not familiar with it, please go check it out, it's GORGEOUS!! Crown is beadwork too. He also has one Arabic styled foot jewellery.

Jamil

-Hair: My first order was to remove his double-faced hairstyle and also remove his bangs from his eye. Make him confident enough to show his whole face. Unlike Leona and Vil, he doesn't really want a crown though (he still feels weird about becoming royalty) so instead he uses a braid as crown. Also gave him a little goatee because I like facial hair and Jafar has a beard too.

-Body: He grew up! While he didn't quite catch up with Leona and Vil, he is now closer to their sizes than before, sitting at around 180cm. He kept his breakdancer/martial artist lean muscles but developed a bit of shoulders.

-Clothes: Went full Arabic dressing and fabrics (once more, go check the fabrics, they are pieces of arts). I gave him floral motifs instead of his usual fire/snake motifs (though he does have a snake earring and a fangs necklace) to symbolise his rebirth/blooming. Like Leona, he has one piece of jewellery that is beadwork.

Vil

-Hair: Here it was a bit tricky. Considering Vil's work, he likely changes hairstyles a lot, going from long to short for his roles instead of his wants. So I leaned into the little things he could add to his hair despite their constant changes, mostly jewelleries, beadworks and wool decorations he stole from his husbands. He also cares a bit less about them looking perfect and is allowing himself to be more natural. He doesn't have any facial hair (yet), keeping a youthful appearance for as long as he can. In another ten years though, he might start looking more and more like his father, beard included.

-Clothes: For Leona and Jamil's mental states, the three of them most likely started living in Sunset Savanna so they wouldn't freeze to death. Vil is well traveled so he can handle most temperatures without trouble, and he is used to dressing up in the local get ups. Here I decided to give him both African dress and Arabic fabric, and likewise both beadwork and golden jewellery. I gave him crown and heart motifs so he can keep being himself despite borrowing a lot from his husbands.

There, I'm done rambling. Here's some doodles, followed by some random headcanons.

-Vil does his husbands hair every morning and keeps giving them more and more intricate hairstyles. He developed a whole haircare and beard-care products set for them.

-When Vil is away for a movie, Jamil keeps his hair mostly down save for a few accessories.

-Jamil and Falena get along surprisingly well (to Leona's despair). Vil gets along very well with Falena's wife.

-Jamil acts as a Scalding Sands ambassador and still is the one to care for Kalim when he comes to visit, though this time he's doing it because he wants to and not because he has to.

-Vil got used to his new title immediately but Jamil struggles with it a lot. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he is no longer a servant.

-The servants at the palace love Jamil because he always makes their job easier.

-Leona finally decided to put his wits to good use and became Falena's advisor. He still fights a lot with Kifaji about the direction to take with the country, but he managed to make some of his ideas heard to help with the staggering inequalities in the country.

That's all for now!

[luveline]

missing spencer x stripper reader these days

—Spencer visits the strip club unannounced. fem, 1.1k

Spencer can’t be clinical about it forever. You’re a sex worker. He doesn’t care, but he can’t ignore it when you look like that. 

You’re standing by the bar slouched backward, your abdomen bent forward, an unsexy position if you were to ask a patron, but weirdly endearing from where Spencer’s standing. Your heels are completely clear. He can see your toes, their painted nails, and the bandaid on the back of your foot where you twist. “Can I have another water, please?” you ask. 

The lingerie is blue. Spencer loves blue. Three pieces, a bra, underwear, and a suspender belt holding stockings the colour of your skin. He knows this is just work, that he’s not being a good friend thinking about how pretty you really look, but it’s not just pretty. His ears start burning the longer he sees it. You shift your weight from one foot to another and your thighs looks soft. 

You take your new glass of water and press yourself flush to the wall. Then you level your gaze and see Spencer watching you, expression jumping from happy to confused to knowing. 

“Hey, Spencer,” you call, hard to hear over the music pounding and the sound of men jeering at to the left near the big stage. “Are you here to see me, or is it a pleasure trip?” 

He clears his throat as discreetly as possible and makes his way to you. The heels make you taller, your legs longer, and the lingerie reveals simple things he doesn’t often think about, the shapes of your breasts, the curve of your sides, your hips leading down… Oh, god, he thinks, feeling sorrier than sorry. 

“You okay?” 

“I came to ask you that.” 

You frown, perturbed. “Why?” 

“You didn’t answer your phone. I just wanted to make sure everyone was still being nice to you.” 

Your frown softens but doesn’t fade. “It’s broken.”

See, he’d believe you, but you used to wear this Tiffany necklace with a soft bevelled heart around your neck until recently, when you told Spencer you lost it, and showed him your second tell. When you’re in pain, your hands tend to strain from you, pushed out and fingers curling. When you lie, you smile too soon, and your eyes catch on the freckles on his nose. 

He pulls open his messenger back and sorts through papers for the black and silver mobile. It’s his emergency phone; should something ever happen to the first, he still wants to be able to contact the outside world. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. 

You’re still. “I can’t take your phone.” 

“It’s a spare. A burner phone? I bought it for emergencies, and this could be one.” 

“Spencer, I can’t…” 

“Please, will you? I’ll get another one.” 

You need a phone. Maybe ten years ago you could get by without one, but you need a phone to arrange bills, talk to your landlord, your boss, your doctor, whatever. Being without one in an emergency could mean bad things. 

You take it, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not very fast,” he says. “There’s a prepaid sim in there for now, but I can get you a real one.” 

“I can do that. Thank you, Spencer. I’ll pay you back.” 

“I don’t want you to pay me back,” he says with a real smile. 

“I could pay you back… with a dance?” You lean across to tap his elbow. “I saw you looking at me, Spencer Reid. We can go somewhere private.” 

Suddenly, it’s like the air in the room is being sucked out, leaving him, and you, and your beautiful bare skin alone in a tight space. 

He raises the arm you’ve tapped to tap you back. “You’re beautiful,” he says, sure you can see the blood in his cheeks, “but I don’t need anything from you. I want you to have the phone because I know you walk home by yourself most nights, it’s not so you owe me. You don’t owe me anything.” 

He shouldn’t have added that last part. He’s worried you’ll be angry with him for saying something that might embarrass you, but you give him a softer smile. Real, and nothing like the playful fire you’d held when you were offering a dance. “You sure?” you ask quietly. 

“I thought we were friends?” 

“I think so too.” 

“Can I ask you something unrelated?” 

You squint with mock suspicion. “That depends.” 

“Are you cold?” 

You laugh, grabbing his arm as you do to steady yourself on your precarious footwear. “I’m surprised I haven’t got hypothermia,” you say, face tipping gently to your shoulder. “But I don’t think I’d make any money in a hoodie.” 

Spencer doesn’t see how that could be true. You're one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen, if not the prettiest, and even if you were in a hoodie that would still leave your legs to make money. He’s sure they could. He’s also sure that he shouldn’t say that aloud, instead digging through his bag for the real thing he’d brought you. “Here,” he says, handing you a chocolate chip and strawberry protein bar, “for your rumbling stomach.” 

Those few nights you’d stayed with him, you’d been a little shy and more afraid, probably worried he’d hurt you while you were vulnerable, though he had no intention, but you’d start to let pieces of you through the cracks. You like dancing but not men. You like fresh fruit, the smell of a new car, and buying new clothes. Stripping isn’t, like, easy, you’d said once, sitting cross-legged on his couch with a bowl of soup and that awful shiner, It probably looks easy. People think that the hardest part is being pretty, but it’s not. 

What’s the hardest part? he’d asked, sympathetic and curious simultaneously. The hardest part statistically would be the high rates of femicide and assault. 

It makes you so hungry. It’s like constantly working out every night.

“That’s for me?” you ask. 

“So you can survive your workout.” 

“Spencer, I think you’re the most romantic guy I’ve ever met.” 

He presses the protein bar in the same hand as the phone, ducking his head just a bit, just to see you clearly. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” 

You seem to think this is the funniest thing he could’ve said, pressing your face briefly, heart-achingly to his shoulder, before pulling away to beam at him. “Don’t be sorry. You’re the best guy ever. And I had this investment banker come in a few days ago who gave me a hundred dollars to listen to him talk about his new kitten.” 

“I’m surprised I beat that.” 

You spread a hand over his heart. “I wouldn’t worry about competition, Dr. Reid.” 

[spicysourchimken]

Interesting reunions

Tim and Danny are twins, Danny was given up for adoption by the Drakes when he was a baby and Tim was never told he has a brother.

After a reveal gone bad, Danny, Jazz, Sam and Tucker became thieves after closing the portal. They mainly target supernatural or cursed items. Their target, a necklace, is being held in a museum with their in being a private event to show off the piece before it's sent back to its owner.

The heist would've gone well if Tim hadn't also been in attendance.

------

'Lmao and here I thought you didn't want to be here'

It was a text from Dick.

Not exactly the strangest thing to happen when Tim was forced to attend an event.

He'd been benched after a mission resulted in a minor concussion. He'd personally been planning on going over his paperwork for Wayne Enterprises, but apparently that wasn't 'rest', instead he was sent off to be bored out of his mind at some art function. He didn't have time to prepare notes or even do any real research. But he still had Dick who had apparently been dragged along as his babysitter (And was fortunately interested in the items on display)

They'd been texting throughout the night. Dick fed him enough information to be mildly interested in topics of conversation, and when that failed the strange history of the main display. An old necklace that supposedly was connected to a string of deaths and all around misfortune.

So no, the text wasn't strange, but what was, was the photo attached. It was a picture of a man, grinning and chatting amicably with a woman whom he could barely make out as the collection's curator. His hair was longer than Tim's, tied neatly back to be clear of his glasses and to give clear view of the man's face.

Tim's face.

There was a clone at the event.

'can u get me another pic?'

Tim was now significantly more interested. Tim could identify the room they were in, housing the main display and it was about two rooms over from where he was currently hiding out. He could get there easily enough.

Dick sent him a thumbs up before replying with another, distinctly more uncomfortable photo of the man. He smiled awkwardly and Tim could finally get a better look at his face. Tim's brows scrunched together. A lichtenburg scar stretched up from beneath his collar and trailed along his jaw and in the light the man's eyes almost looked green.

He ran the photo through his facial recognition software, getting at least a few pings on himself before finally landing on Jonas Spencer, private security currently assigned to shadow one Morgan Deveraux. His history was solid, highschool records, even a spotty criminal history (points where he'd almost been arrested for bar fights) before he'd joined up with his firm.

So. not a clone. Probably.

Tim would still need to check it out. He pushed past a dark haired woman and entered the main show room. Dick, luckily had kept him in conversation but Jonas looked flighty, his eyes always drifting back to his charge.

Then he caught sight of Tim.

He froze. Staring at Tim for a moment before he tapped his ear- and what Tim assumed to be a comm. He made a move for Morgan, leaving Dick in the dust.

The lights flickered. Jonas reached for Megan, his hand wrapping around hers. Tim could've sworn his eyes darted upwards. Then there was a complete blackout. There was a clatter as a vent grate fell to the floor, shouts arose from the attendees.

Then the lights flickered back to life.

Jonas and Morgan had vanished, and so did the necklace as well as three other paintings.

Good news, its not a clone. Bad news, he might have a twin brother who is in a gang of thieves.

--

Daniel Fenton, or as his ID currently stated 'Jonas Spencer', wouldn't exactly call himself a thief- personally he was more of a collector. Or a curator, whatever the hell you might call a guy who grabs haunted and or cursed objects and dumps them in an alternate dimension.

And it wasn't exactly like he was normally the one stealing things either! That was mostly Sam, he'd done for a bit when they'd first started up (pushing his hands through the glass and taking a necklace with him, or making a painting completely invisible as he whisked it away) but then Sam started calling it 'cheating' and claimed 'his technique was lacking' and promptly took over his position.

(He didn't exactly mind, using his powers too often made his skin crawl. He may not have the GIW constantly hunting him, but he'd had enough run ins to make him sweat. He also didn't want to think about his parents.)

So maybe their entire deal wasn't completely altruistic. When you've been on the run since seventeen and had decided that you, your best friends and your older sister are going to become international thieves, sometimes you have to steal things so that you can have an income. And sometimes stealing is fun.

Unluckily their current job wasn't recreational. They'd heard word of a haunted necklace, there was a string of bad luck connected to it. Mirrors shattering, injuries popping up only days after interacting with the piece, lights falling out from the ceiling. There'd also been a case of near death.

Very clearly the latest display piece was cursed meaning they needed to grab it before it was shipped back into it private collection in France. That meant a time crunch, meaning they wouldn't be fully prepared. It was fine- they'd stolen the dagger of Amon Ra when they had half a day to plan, so three should've been fine.

He and Jazz manned the floor, Jazz kept to grifting while Danny worked as support if things went sideways on any front. Jazz, currently wealthy socialite 'Morgan Devereaux', draped an arm around a politician as he guided her through the collection. Jazz shot him a glance telling him to stay back, keep monitoring the main floor with the necklace.

That was fine. He could do that. He approached the curator and complimented the piece, letting her tell him about the struggles she had getting it overseas let alone her conversations with the owner. Ok, so definitely cursed.

Danny felt eyes on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw someone take a photo. Tall, dark hair and a bright smile.

Sam pointed out that it was a Wayne.

At that point Danny made an attempt to leave, if he was going to get into a fight we wasn't going to do it there. He'd be too close to the necklace for Sam to get in and grab it without attention being drawn to her too. But Grayson cornered him impressively fast. He asked Danny for a photo, claiming that he looked just like his brother. Danny relented.

Then Tucker chimed in that someone had ran his face. Fuck. Dick kept him in conversation but Danny was eyeing their escape roots. Sam warned that another was coming through the left entrance and that she'd already lifted his phone. Danny turned, preparing himself for confrontation.

Then Danny saw him, his doppelganger.

Grayson hadn't been lying. That thought was terrifying.

Danny sent two taps into his earpiece and made his way towards Jazz. They couldn't risk staying any longer. Danny didn't know if they'd been made or not but he wasn't taking chances. He nodded to Sam who went for the jewels as Tucker cut the lights. Jazz and Danny took a painting each.

Sam went for the vents and Danny and Jazz disappeared through the front door.

[gogobootz1]

Dog Day Afternoon

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: New to town but oh-so sought after, a few stumbles might just lead you to love

Word Count: 3k

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Today, I write with news from the North. The reclusive Duke of Devonshire has come to London. It seems that after the death of his younger brother some time back, he is determined to find his eldest daughter, the new heir, a husband. The lady is supposedly very beautiful and will no doubt consume all of the attention of eligible young bachelors. I only bid good luck to her competition, as they will surely need it.

The fluffy tails of your two best friends could not keep still. The black Newfoundlands you had trained from puppyhood loved carriage rides, mostly because they loved meeting the horses before and after. You were sure they'd grow even more excited when you arrived at the park.

As the carriage slowed, you smiled, eager to get them some exercise. Your maid stepped out first, and you momentarily handed her both dogs' leads. Accepting a hand down from a footman, you turned to take them back when they broke free of her grasp entirely. Worse yet, they took off at a run.

You called after them, then whistled, but they were determined. Usually, they didn't give you any trouble with recall. Reaching for the dog whistle you kept on your person, you found nothing.

Without a second thought, you took off after them.

"My Lady!" Your maid called from behind you, panicked. You paid her little heed, anxious to have your babies back safe.

Park patrons stood as your dogs, followed by yourself, ran past. They gawked openly at the strange scene put on by an unknown young lady.

You were relieved when they slowed, but it didn't take long for them to sprint off again. They rounded a corner, quick as lighting. You kept after them, unable to see the obstacle around the bend.

Crashing right into someone's back, the two of you stumbled. The poor gentleman in front of you took the brunt of the impact, but you didn't have time to stay and make a formal apology. Staggering a bit, you resumed your chase.

"Sorry!" You yelled over your shoulder.

"Wait! Miss," the man called after you but gave up as you ran further away.

When your dogs ran off the path and into a clearing where people were picnicking, you grew really worried. Chasing after them on a trail was one thing, but ruining the outings of fellow nobility would be an altogether worse embarrassment.

You stopped in your tracks when you realized who the boys were scampering up to: your little sister. Abigail sat on a blanket with a girl who looked to be about her age. In her mouth was the dog whistle. You tended only to use that whistle when you took them out in the woods, and you'd trained them to run back to you at the sound of it. It gave you peace of mind knowing that you could call them back at any time if they went too far off in the forest or on one of your walks.

Abigail seemed pleased to see the two of them. A surprised grin graced her face as she patted them. They were even happier to see her, showering her in kisses. "Hoo-y? Moo? What are you doing here?" She giggled.

Her laughter stopped when she saw you stalking over. Thoroughly out of breath, you crossed your arms when you reached them. The three of them looked guiltily up at you. With a snap, your dogs came to sit on either side of you. Although your countenance was thoroughly enraged, scratching behind both dogs' ears decreased your intimidation factor.

"Why on Earth did you steal that?" You nodded toward your whistle.

"I think it makes for a chic necklace," Abigail said defensively. You stuck a hand out, and she reluctantly placed the whistle she'd put on a chain in it.

"And why on Earth were you using it?" You asked expectantly.

She held her hands up in surrender, "Miss Hyacinth was skeptical that the whistle could not be heard with human ears. I was simply showing her how it worked." Abigail was clever- you'd give her that. You could hardly scold her in front of her companion, and you wouldn't dream of scolding the other young girl for something so clearly not her fault. Using her as a human shield was a cowardly tactic by your sister, however. "And I thought you weren't arriving until later!"

"They were antsy. I figured I could abandon the harp in favor of allowing them some exercise," you explained, then glared at her, "This was not the type of exercise I had in mind."

"But Hoo-y and Moo love running free," she pouted at you.

"They are not allowed to run free in public spaces where I must chase after them!" You snapped at her. Crouching to get closer, you reached into your purse and gave both dogs a scrap of jerky. "Huginn and Muninn are both well-behaved gentlemen, and you may have tarnished their good names by causing this wild romp!"

"Huginn and Muninn? Does that make you Odin?" A deep voice called from behind you. You rose and turned to see a tall, handsome gentleman with dark hair.

His question took you by surprise. Most people did not understand their names. You blinked for a second before collecting yourself, "No." It was hardly a smart reply, but it was the most you could manage after chasing your dogs a few hundred meters. You shook your head a little, vaguely embarrassed by your answer, before turning back to the girls.

"Would you please excuse Lady Abigail, Miss Hyacinth?" The bright young lady nodded at you with a pleasant smile before you even finished speaking, "The least she can do after causing such trouble is help me walk the dogs." You directed the last part toward your sister, who reluctantly stood. Taking one of the leads from your hand, she bid goodbye to her companion before walking off. You nodded at the young lady and the handsome stranger before following after her.

Benedict watched you walk away from his sister's picnic spot, only slightly removed from the rest of the family's. He collapsed down next to Hyacinth and stole a grape from her plate, "Who was that?"

"My new friend, Abigail," she replied, smacking his wrist. He ate the grape anyway.

"And the older one?"

"Her sister," Hyacinth looked at him skeptically, "why do you ask?"

Benedict thought of how you'd practically pushed him to the ground in the middle of the walkway, then ran from the scene. "No reason," he shrugged.

——————————————

The first ball you'd be attending was later that evening, and you were incredibly nervous. Sat on the floor of the library, you brushed through Muninn's coat in an attempt to calm your nerves. Waiting for your father to finish changing was making you even more anxious, the dread just building up in your body.

"Why are you on the floor?" His voice finally came from the doorway.

"His coat needed brushing," you shrugged innocently. The Duke waved at you to come join him, and you stood, brushing some fur off yourself. Muninn stood, too, and closely followed as you joined your father.

"You're only lucky he didn't slobber on you," your father shook his head at you fondly, offering his arm.

Taking it, you made one last bid to skip the event, "Remind me why we are attending this?"

"A future Duchess needs a husband," he said simply.

"Does she really?" You asked wryly.

"No," your father answered seriously, causing you to stop. "Well, only if she should like a Duke or Duchess of her blood to follow in her footsteps," he tugged on your arm to keep you walking.

That only made you feel worse. While before you felt nervous, guilt was now in the mix. What if that didn't happen?

"If you never marry, I will not love you any less," he revealed. "I only ask that you try," your father asserted, "but if there is nary a man up to snuff, I would have you die a spinster." You laughed at that, feeling some pressure relieved. He joked with you for the duration of the carriage ride and up until you were announced at the ball.

"Now presenting; His Grace Daniel, Duke of Devonshire, and his daughter Lady-"

The entire company of the room turned to watch the two of you descend the stairs.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Your father whispered to you jokingly.

"Oh, only that awful mustache," you whispered back playfully. You caught the corner of his lip twitching as he tried not to laugh at the jab at his expense.

A few more seconds of staring had you whispering to him again, "I see now why you never leave the house." That earned a huff of a laugh from him.

"Let us thank our host, then visit the refreshments," he relayed the plan.

"Excellent idea," you replied quietly as he dragged you toward a finely dressed older woman.

"Lady Danbury," your father nodded at her in greeting.

"Lovely to see you again, Your Grace. It's been quite some time," she smiled at him knowingly.

"Indeed it has," he laughed, "may I present my daughter?" You smiled then, giving her a polite nod as well.

"My, how you've grown, my lady. The last time I saw you, you were far shorter than me," she chuckled, and you laughed politely with her. Unfortunately, you had no memory of that meeting. It must have been a long time ago, and she must have visited your home at Chatsworth House.

It was only a few more moments of small talk before your father excused the two of you, under the guise of not impeding her from talking to other guests.

He fixed you both a glass of lemonade at the refreshments table before he was pulled away. As much as he hated socializing, people loved him. He sent you an apologetic glance as he left. You only shook your head at him, smiling.

You took a brief glance around the room, noticing a few debutantes conversing near you. You sent them a smile, but they sneered in reply and closed ranks. Stunned at their response, you didn't quite know what to do.

"They can be rather mean," you turned to find a young red-headed woman beside you. "Not to mention jealous," she said helpfully.

"Jealous?" You were confused. They hadn't even met you. "Of me?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed a bit. "Haven't you read Lady Whistledown?"

You were embarrassed to have no idea of what she spoke, "I haven't met her. Is she in attendance?" That got an even greater laugh from your companion.

"Lady Whistledown is a gossip columnist and a rather popular one at that," she informed you, and you felt foolish for your last comment. "She wrote about you in her latest issue."

"Really?" You were stunned, as you'd only recently arrived in London.

"She predicted you'd steal the attentions of every available gentleman away from your fellow debutants," she nodded.

"No wonder they hate me," you sighed, sorry to have made a bad impression on the debutants before making their acquaintance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I still haven't introduced myself!" You were eager to make at least one good first impression.

"I'm Penelope Featherington," she said with a smile.

"I must admit, Miss Featherington," you shook your head, "I think Lady Whistledown's prediction will prove incorrect." She tilted her head and gestured for you to go on, "I've not been approached by a single gentleman."

Penelope took a quick look around the room, accidentally meeting a few pairs of eyes. Plenty of people had already been looking in your direction. She smiled a bit at your obliviousness, "I think perhaps they're just intimidated."

"Oh no," your eyes widened, "have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," she assured you, "I think it's just... no one wants to take the first shot at a great stag and miss."

"I'm not sure I like being prey in this metaphor," you deadpanned, causing her to laugh once again.

It seemed one young gentleman mustered the courage to be the first to approach, and he really was young. "Good evening, ladies," he greeted you both, then offered you his hand, "would you care to dance?"

You placed your hand lightly in his but sent Penelope a look as he led you off. She giggled as you went. From there, you were off to the races. Dance after dance, gentleman after gentleman, you were exhausted.

"Please excuse me, sir, I'm feeling rather parched," you did not even recall this one's name.

"Oh no, please, my lady, I shall fetch a beverage for you," he nodded, "stay right there! Don't move!" He kept eye contact with you as he walked backward a few paces. You couldn't help but walk backward away from him, and you continued to do so even after he'd scurried off.

In fact, you retreated so far back that you retreated right into someone else's back. You both turned.

“You rather love bumping into me,” the gentleman you’d seen earlier said.

“Excuse me?” You certainly hadn’t seen him before this morning, so you had no idea what he meant by that smart comment. Your offense at his statement outweighed the sway of his good looks, unlike earlier.

“This makes twice,” he insisted, “once chasing after your ravens and once just now.”

It took you a second to catch up, “It was you I knocked over in the park earlier?!” Embarrassment rolled over you like a wave. “Oh God,” this was awful, “I am so incredibly sorry. Truly, I am mortified. And I would have apologized earlier, I-“

He only laughed a bit, “It’s quite alright. I got the sense you were in a rush.” His teasing tone brought a smile to your face.

“They’re usually so well-behaved,” you assured him, “I’m afraid my sister was behind the debacle.”

“Oh, yes, she was sitting with Hyacinth, was she not?”

“You know Miss Hyacinth?”

The gentleman grinned and bowed, “Benedict Bridgerton, her brother.”

“Very nice to meet you,” you smiled, “officially.”

“I’m not sure I caught your name,” right as he asked, you heard it being called.

“My lady?” You whipped around, and spotted the gentleman you’d abandoned searching for you. Wincing, you scuttled toward the closest pillar and ducked behind it. Benedict stayed put, but watched you run off with great amusement. After a moment, he chose to follow you.

“Are you hiding?” He teasingly asked.

You peered around the pillar, hoping the man had walked away. When you saw he hadn’t, you ducked away again, “yes!”

Benedict blinked at you, smiling, “Why?”

“My feet hurt,” you confessed, “I have danced every dance. I haven’t sat down in hours. Frankly, I’m surprised so many are interested after my jaunt through the park.”

“Perhaps they were impressed by your display of athleticism,” a crooked grin crossed his face. You leveled him with a look.

“There you are, my lady,” you jolted at the foreign voice, and Benedict had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “I could not find you, so I’m afraid I drank your lemonade as well,” you could see Benedict’s shoulders shake with laughter, “Are you ready for our next dance?”

A look of pure horror must have crossed your face, because Benedict finally intervened, “I’m afraid she’s promised the next dance to me.” He pulled a pencil from a pocket in his jacket and outstretched one hand to you. You held out the arm your dance card was attached to, “In fact, I’ve very generously been granted all her remaining dances.” He winked at you as he filled in the four remaining spots. You fought off a grin.

“I see,” the man you interrupted you said sourly. He turned on his heel and marched away. Neither you nor Benedict could stop your laughter at his reaction.

“It is not my intention to further burden your feet,” he assured you after a moment, “I only hoped to dissuade him.”

“You did a fine job,” you grinned at him, “you have my gratitude.”

“I think I rather scandalized him,” Benedict chuckled, and you shook your head.

“It seems rather easy to scandalize this lot,” you said.

“Well, you’re right about that,” he nodded.

You sighed, “I think they’re all so concerned with presenting themselves as proper and important they forget to consider anyone else. Not one man I danced with asked me about myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict shook his head, “I hope the rest of your evening is more relaxing.”

“Thank you,” you nodded at him, “at the very least, I know my dogs will listen to me when I return to them.”

Benedict laughed at that and slightly bowed towards you again, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I hope to bump into you again soon.”

Your eyes widened, “Maybe not bump.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled at you and nodded before leaving you free to go find somewhere to sit.

Soon enough, you father found you relaxing on a chaise lounge in a nearby study. He only shook his head, and offered you his arm to depart.

——————————————

The next morning brought with it house calls. You’d been hoping to spend a quiet morning working on a new piece for the harp, as you’d forgone practice the day before. But, much to your chagrin, you were forced to dress and be presentable within only ten minutes of your waking.

It didn’t take long for the sitting room to be bombarded with interested parties, though none were interested enough to truly speak with you. Each brought with him a new bouquet of flowers, and you soon grew worried you’d start sneezing uncontrollably. Eventually, you became so overwhelmed that you bribed poor Abigail to keep them occupied while you disappeared.

The only question she had for you was if you cared what she did to them. You’d given her free rein. With one look at her wicked grin, you fled the room.

Quickly turning the corner to another hallway, you quite nearly crashed into someone.

“That was almost three,” Benedict joked with you.

“Almost,” you highlighted, “but only a close call.”

“True,” he nodded.

"What brings you here?"

Benedict smiled, "I had hoped to call on you. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," you shook your head jovially.

"Excellent! I brought a gift," he produced a brown paper bag. You were slightly confused but glad for something other than flowers.

"Thank you," you reached for it, but he pulled it back.

"Not for you," he shook his head. You blinked back at him, wide-eyed. "Unless you have a proclivity for raw steak." Benedict laughed at the shock on your face, "I thought Huginn and Muninn might enjoy a treat."

A surprised smile eased onto your face. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"Do you think they might also appreciate a walk in the park?" He asked, "A chance at redemption?"

"I think they'd like that," you grinned widely as Benedict smiled and offered you his arm.

---------------------------------------------------------

He didn't ask a single question! And he was wearing these- FUGLY jeans

Lol I've been toying with this idea since S3 part 1 came out, hope you liked it! I let her live in 2005 Mr. Darcy's luxurious mansion so you're welcome

(sorry for obscure norse mythology references)

[pucked-bunnie]

family skate ⎜q.hughes

pairings: quinn hughes x reader genre: fluff ⎜romance ⎜ warnings: none! this is just cute and wholesome. synopsis: you haven't been on many dates in your life time - but you definetly haven't been on one quite like this one. word count: 4.5k authors note:  this is a much anticipated and requests part 2 of book club. I hope you all enjoy!! I doubt this will top book club but it's worth a shot

(unedited)

+

+

“Is this date acceptable?” You ask, twirling a little in front of the mirror - trying to get your outfit from every angle. You huff, pushing your hair away from your face as you turn to face your cat currently perched on the edge of your bed. “You are no help.” You pout at him, the cat tilting his head in confusion before jumping off the bed. 

Quinn was going to be at your apartment in less then fifteen minutes and you were still second guessing your outfit. 

The mirror offers no new insights, no reassurance, just the same reflection you’ve been scrutinising for the last twenty minutes. You tug at the hem of your top, debating whether it looks too casual. Then you turn your attention to the necklace—is it too much? Not enough?

“You could at least pretend to care,” you mutter, glancing over at your cat, who’s lounging on the floor besides your bed, casually licking a paw. He pauses to give you an unimpressed look before resuming his grooming routine, as if to say, this is your mess to figure out, not mine.

You sigh dramatically, flopping onto the floor beside him. “You have no idea how hard this is,” you grumble, scratching behind his ears. He leans into your touch for all of three seconds before deciding he’s had enough and saunters off toward the windowsill.

“Traitor,” you call after him, sitting up again. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and your stomach tightens. A quick glance at the screen tells you Quinn is on his way and will be there in less than ten minutes.

Panic sets in. You shoot to your feet, suddenly hyperaware of every little thing about your outfit that might be wrong. 

The shoes—do they match? 

The colour of your pants—too bright? Not bright enough?

You shake your head, trying to push the doubts away. This is supposed to be fun. It’s just a casual date, not a job interview, you remind yourself. But the butterflies in your stomach refuse to listen.

Your cat lets out a soft meow from his perch, and you look over to find him watching you with a curious tilt of his head. It’s almost as if he’s saying, relax, you’re overthinking this.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, smoothing a hand over your hair. “You don’t have to worry about impressing anyone. You just show up, purr, and everyone loves you.”

The doorbell rings, and your heart leaps into your throat. Okay, showtime. You grab your bag, stealing one last look in the mirror. “Here goes nothing,” you whisper, before heading to the door.

When you open it, there he is—Quinn, with that easy, lopsided smile that makes your heart do somersaults. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, looking just as nervous as you feel, and somehow that makes it all a little better.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you. “You look... wow.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you can’t help but smile. “Thanks. I, uh... wasn’t sure about the outfit.”

“Well, I’m sure,” he replies, holding the flowers out to you. “You look incredible.” You step aside to let him in, the tension in your shoulders melting away. 

“The flowers are stunning.” You say as you round the kitchen counter, quickly reaching for the vase underneath the sink - filling it with fresh water and placing the flowers inside.  

“I remember you mentioning you have a cat and probably spent about two hours checking what was toxic to them.” Quinn says with a nervous laugh, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck. 

“So is this ice skating appropriate?” You question gesturing down to your outfit, the simple flared jeans and Canucks blue knitted sweater seeming overly casual the more you look down at it. “Maybe I should change?” You say quickly, Quinns head shaking vigorously as he reaches forwards to grab hold of your hand. 

“As long as you’re warm that’s all that matters.” He says lifting your hand to place a soft kiss against your knuckles before glancing down at his watch. “Besides we have no time.” He almost drags you out of your apartment only pausing to let you lock your front door, before pulling you out to his car - opening the door for you to slide in. 

You settle into the passenger seat, the warmth of Quinn’s earlier gesture still lingering on your skin. The soft scent of his cologne fills the car, and you find yourself relaxing just a little. The tension in your shoulders eases as he jogs around to the driver’s side, sliding in and starting the engine.

“You really didn’t have to rush,” you say with a small laugh, buckling your seatbelt. “We could’ve been a few minutes late.” He grins as he pulls out onto the street. “Not on my watch. First impressions matter. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t stick to a plan.”

“First impressions?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “I think we’re a little past that.”

“First official date impressions,” he counters smoothly, shooting you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. “Totally different thing. Higher stakes.”

You smile, his playful energy easing the last of your nerves. The city lights blur past as the car glides down the road, and you steal a glance at him—his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, the corners of his mouth quirked up in a way that feels impossibly genuine.

The car hums softly as Quinn pulls into the lot underneath the Rogers Arena when the thought hits you this wasn’t just a casual skate. It was the family skate, surrounded by Quinn’s teammates, their families, and probably more cameras than you cared to think about. Quinn parks and turns to you, his signature lopsided smile breaking through any lingering nerves. 

“Ready?” he asks, though his voice carries a hint of uncertainty.

You let out a soft breath, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Are you ready? Don’t think I’m going easy on you just because this is your turf.”

His laugh is soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d be offended if you did.”

He hops out of the car, grabbing the a bag from the trunk as you step out into the cool air outside the car. The sound of blaring music muffled by the stone walls of the building making you buzz with excitement. Quinn holds his hand out towards you, waiting patiently as you look down at it and then back up at him. He nods towards it once, a smiling breaking out on his face as you slide your hand into his. 

You’d held hands with Quinn before, most times without even thinking about it, but this time for some reason felt different. Quinns hand was warm against yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you closer to his side, nodding a quick hello to the security guard at the entrance. 

“Quinn do people know about me?” You ask softly, as the thought hits you. “I kind of feel like I’m intruding.” You whisper as you follow him down the hallways, the music getting louder the close you get to the ice. 

Quinn slows his steps, turning to face you with a reassuring smile. “They know about you,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Not everything—but enough to know you’re important to me.”

Your stomach flutters at his words, but you still hesitate, glancing down the hallway toward the growing buzz of voices and music. “Important enough to bring me to this?”

He grins, leaning closer so only you can hear. “Important enough that I want you to see this part of my world. And… well, if I’m being honest, I think they’ll love you.” You balk at his words, a little Quinn quickly adding, “But watch out for Elias, he’s way too excited to meet you.” You nod your head. 

Quinn had talked about Elias Pettersson - his best friend - several times when you have spent time together in the store. Explained how despite Elias always wanting the best for him, the swede couldn’t help but mess with his captain whenever present with an opportunity. 

You raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Even if I wipe out on the ice in front of all of them?” You say, suddenly second guessing all of your athletic abilities. 

Quinn chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Especially then. They’ll think you’re just like me.”

That earns a laugh from you, easing some of the tension in your chest. “You’re really not worried about that?”

“Not even a little,” he says confidently, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Besides, I’ll be right there to catch you. The thought of falling doesn’t seem so bad when he says it like that. Taking a deep breath, you nod, letting his calm confidence steady you. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

With your hand still in his, he leads you into the rink. The air is colder, sharper, and the arena is alive with activity—kids darting across the ice, laughter echoing off the walls, and players chatting with their families near the benches.

As you step closer to the boards, you notice a few of the players turning to look your way. Some of the guys offer warm smiles, a few nodding in greeting, most looking between you and their captain in astonishment. 

“A lot of them thought I was bluffing.” He whispers to you as he reaches to grab a pair of skates from the bag he’s carrying and hands them to you. “Think you can handle these?” He questions, showing you the tan coloured Bauer hockey skates - the fleece lining already calling your name. 

“Quinn these are like three hundred dollars.” You hiss under your breath, leaning forwards to make sure no one else can hear you. Quinn shrugs, leading you over to the bench motioning for you to sit down. 

“Consider it payment for being willing to go on a date with me.” He says softly, dropping one skate on the bench besides you before fiddling with the one still in his hands. Quinn loosens the laces on the skate, adjusting it until it’s ready to slip on your foot. “Shoes off.” He says quickly, leaving no time for you to argue, as you toe your sneakers off and slip them under the bench. 

Quinn bends a little, helping you slip your foot into the skate before lifting your leg till your foot sits comfortably between his two thighs, his hands making quick work of fitting the skate to your foot. “Let me know if it’s too tight.” He says softly, his brows furrowed in concentration as he pulls each lace tight, one by one. He asks you to wiggle your toes, making sure the fit is comfortable before gently dropping your foot to the ground and repeating the process with your other skate. 

You watch Quinn as he works, his movements careful and deliberate, his hands steady as they tug at the laces. His focus is so intense that you almost forget where you are, the buzz of the rink fading into the background for a moment.

"You're really good at this," you say, breaking the silence.

He glances up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I've had some practice."

"Yeah, but still," you tease. "This is next-level service. I feel spoiled."

He chuckles, finishing the second skate and giving your knee a playful pat. "You're supposed to feel spoiled. That's the point."

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you’re grateful for the excuse to look away as you flex your feet in the skates, testing the fit. "These feel amazing," you admit.

"Good," he says, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now let's see if you can stay on your feet."

You laugh but take his hand, letting him help you up. The skates feel sturdy, even though it takes a moment to adjust to the feeling on walking on the blades, Quinn keeping his hands ready as he follows behind you. 

“Your lack of trust in my ability is astounding.” You call, as you step up to the open door on the bench, bracing both hands on the sides as you finally step onto the ice. The chill hits you immediately, sharper and more invigorating than you remember, the surface is smooth and gleaming, and your skates slide easily, almost too easily as your body gets back into the routine of skating. 

"Okay, this is a little harder than I remember," you admit as you wobble slightly. Quinn grins, skating backward in front of you, his hands reaching out to grab hold of yours. 

"You're doing fine. Just trust your feet." He says, thankful for his assistance as you remind yourself to keep your knees bent. 

You glance down at the ice, then back up at him. "Easy for you to say, Mr. NHL Star." You laugh, panicking as he moves to pull his hands from yours. “Don’t you dare.” You hiss, Quinn let out a bark of laughter as he pulls you closer to the centre of the rink. 

With his steady guidance, you feel your confidence grow, giving him a quick nod as he slowly releases your hands you body finally remembering how to skate confidently as Quinn sidles up besides you, his smile infectious as you make your way around the rink comfortably. 

"You’re a natural," Quinn says after a while, his voice warm with encouragement.

“I told you I knew how to skate,” you reply, but you can’t help smiling, “with maybe a bit of a rocky start.” 

"Maybe a little," he admits with a wink. "But you’re doing great."

As you glide along the boards, a few of Quinn’s teammates skate by, some offering waves or teasing remarks. One of them—a tall guy with a mischievous grin—calls out, "Quinn’s got his hands full tonight!"

"Jealous, Petey?" Quinn shoots back, his tone lighthearted.

The guy—Petey—grins. "Always, Hughesy. Always." Quinn’s teammate circles around once before making his way back to you and Quinn, slipping himself between you and your date with a cheeky smile, shooting his captain a wink before linking his arm with yours. “I need to borrow her for a minute.” He says, Quinn opening his mouth to complain but you’re already being dragged away from him. 

You’re whisked away before you can even process what’s happening, your skates gliding awkwardly as Petey pulls you along. You glance over your shoulder at Quinn, who shakes his head with an amused smile, clearly letting Petey have his moment.

“Sorry about Hughesy,” Petey says, steering you toward a quieter corner of the rink where a few other players are gathered. “He’s not usually this good at showing off.”

“Showing off?” you ask, your voice tinged with playful skepticism.

Petey smirks. “Oh, yeah. Trust me, this is peak ‘look at me, I have a girlfriend’ energy.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling a little of the lingering tension ease. “I wouldn’t say he’s showing off. He’s just…” You hesitate, searching for the right word.

“Obsessed?” Petey supplies, his grin widening. “It’s cute, don’t worry. We’re all rooting for him.” Before you can respond, another player skates over, clapping Petey on the shoulder. “Stop scaring her, man. She just got here.”

“Am I scaring you?” Petey asks dramatically, placing a hand over his heart like he’s offended.

“Not at all,” you reply, unable to suppress a grin. “You’re more… enthusiastic.”

The second guy laughs. “Come on, man, let her get back to Quinn before he skates over here and kicks you in the ankles.”

Petey sighs theatrically, releasing your arm. “Fine. But only because I’m nice.” He pauses, looking you over with an approving nod. “You’re good for him. Don’t let him mess this up.”

“I’ll do my best,” you promise, chuckling as Petey skates off with his friend.

When you return to Quinn, he’s standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “I can’t leave you alone for five seconds, can I?”

You shrug, your grin wide. “Your teammates are… lively.”

“Yeah, they’re something,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly. “What did Petey say?”

“Nothing you need to know.”

“Great you’ve already got secrets with my friends.” Quinn groans, “It wasn’t anything bad was it?” 

“I’m just glad you think I’m worth showing off for.” You tease, watching as Quinn spin shooting a glare at his friend who is already laughing as he skates to the bench. You laugh with Petey, slipping your arm through Quinn’s. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute.” You say, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

His cheeks flush slightly. “Glad to hear it. Now, ready to show these guys you can out-skate them?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, feigning confidence. Quinn grins, pulling you back toward the centre of the ice. “That’s the spirit.”

As the evening goes on, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The gentle guidance of Quinn’s hand, the light teasing from his teammates, and the vibrant energy of the rink all blend together into something that feels magical.

When you finally step off the ice, your cheeks are pink from the cold and laughter, your legs pleasantly tired. Quinn helps you sit back on the bench and starts unlacing your skates with the same careful attention he’d shown earlier.

“Thank you,” you say softly, watching him work.

He looks up, his expression warm. “For what?”

“For bringing me here. For letting me be a part of this.”

Quinn’s smile deepens, and he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to share it with anyone else.” Your heart swells at his words, and as he finishes with your skates and helps you into your shoes, he makes quick work of pulling off his own skates, slipping on his sneakers as he pulls you up from the bench with him. 

As you rise, Quinn keeps your hand firmly in his, leading you out of the rink. The arena is quieter now, the echoes of laughter and skates on ice fading as families and players begin to trickle out. The cold air nips at your face as you step into the hallway, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth still lingering from Quinn’s words.

“So,” he says as you walk side by side, his voice soft, “what’s the verdict? Best date ever, or are you just being polite?”

You chuckle, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “It’s definitely up there. Though, I feel like there’s some bias—being surrounded by professional skaters might give the date an unfair edge.”

Quinn grins, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a win.”

As you approach the exit, a few of his teammates call out their goodbyes, and you wave shyly, still getting used to the attention. One of them jokes, “Don’t let him scare you off, okay?”

Quinn groans, shaking his head. “I’m never bringing you around these guys again.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like seeing you in your element.”

“Yeah?” he asks, glancing over at you, his expression softening.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile matching his. “You seem… happy. Comfortable.”

“I am,” he says, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity that makes your stomach flutter. “More than I have been in a while.” As you reach his car, he opens the passenger door for you, and you slide in, the warmth of the vehicle a welcome contrast to the crisp night air. Quinn joins you a moment later, turning on the heat before glancing over at you.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” you admit.

“Good,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot. “Because I know a place.”

The drive is quiet but comfortable, the kind of silence that feels natural rather than forced. The city lights blur past the window, and you find yourself stealing glances at Quinn, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard.

When he pulls up to a small, cozy diner, you smile. “This is the place?”

He nods. “Best milkshakes in the city. Trust me.” You follow him inside, the warmth and smell of comfort food wrapping around you like a hug. As you slide into the booth across from him, you can’t help but think that this night, with its mix of nerves, laughter, and quiet moments, has been just about perfect. 

Quinn leans back against the booth, his eyes scanning the menu even though it seems like he already knows what he wants. He glances up at you with a smirk, catching you mid-gaze as you try to take in every little detail of him—how the corners of his mouth curl up slightly when he’s relaxed, the way his fingers drum lightly against the table.

“Caught you,” he teases, his voice low but warm.

Your cheeks heat up as you quickly pick up your own menu. “Just deciding what to order,” you reply, attempting to sound nonchalant.

He chuckles softly, clearly not buying it but letting it slide. “Well, if you trust me, I’d say go with the chocolate peanut butter shake. It’s a classic.”

“Noted,” you say, still scanning the menu. “And what are you getting?”

“Same,” he says, setting the menu down confidently. “And the fries here? Unreal. We have to share.”

You laugh, finally closing your menu. “Fine, but only if I get to steal more than half.”

“Deal,” he says with a grin. The server comes by, taking your orders with a friendly smile, and as soon as they leave, Quinn rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly. His eyes, even under the warm diner lights, hold a softness that makes your stomach flip.

“So,” he says, his tone teasing, “what’s the verdict on skating with a bunch of NHL players? Intimidating or not so bad?” You think for a moment, tapping your fingers lightly against the edge of the table. 

“Not so bad,” you admit. “But I think I was more worried about falling and making a fool of myself than anything else.”

Quinn’s smile widens. “You handled it like a pro. Way better than I did my first time skating with those guys.”

“Wait, are you telling me you’ve fallen on the ice in front of your teammates before?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up in mock disbelief.

“Not just fallen,” he says with a laugh. “I’ve wiped out. Full-on face-plant. And they will never let me live it down.”The image of Quinn sprawled out on the ice has you laughing so hard your sides ache. 

“You? The guy who skates backward without even trying? I need to see proof.”

“Oh, there’s proof,” he groans, shaking his head. “But you’re not getting your hands on it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pretending to think. “We’ll see about that.”

The conversation flows easily, a mix of playful banter and genuine moments, and by the time your milkshakes and fries arrive, it feels like no time has passed at all. Quinn slides the basket of fries toward you first, motioning for you to take the first bite.

“Okay, you hyped these up,” you say, picking one up and dipping it into the side of ketchup. “They’d better be amazing.”

You take a bite, and your eyes widen in surprise. “Okay, wow. These are ridiculous.”

“Told you,” he says smugly, grabbing a fry of his own. “Now you see why I keep coming back here.” The two of you fall into a rhythm—sharing fries, sipping milkshakes, and trading stories about everything and nothing. It’s easy, comfortable, like you’ve been doing this for years instead of just one night. At one point, Quinn tells you about a prank his teammates pulled involving a lost skate blade and a bucket of confetti, and you laugh so hard you almost choke on your milkshake.

When the food is gone and the server drops off the check, Quinn is quick to grab it, waving off your protest before you can even get a word out.

“You can get the next one,” he says with a grin, slipping his card into the little black folder. “If I let you win.”

“Oh, you’re planning on more dates?” you tease, though your heart skips at the implication.

He leans forward slightly, his expression playful but earnest. “Absolutely.”

The drive back to your apartment is quieter but no less comfortable, the kind of silence that feels natural, like neither of you needs to fill it with words. When Quinn pulls up outside your building, he hops out quickly, coming around to open your door for you.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” you tease, stepping out.

“Not on my watch,” he replies with a wink.

The cold night air greets you as you step outside. Snowflakes drift lazily down, dusting the cars and sidewalks with a fresh layer of white. Quinn pauses, looking up at the sky.

“Perfect end to the night,” he says, his breath visible in the chill.

You tilt your head back, letting the snowflakes land on your face. “It really is.”

Quinn watches you for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then, without warning, he scoops up a handful of snow, quickly packing it into a loose ball.

“What are you—” you start, but before you can finish, he gently taps the snowball against your shoulder, laughing.

“Oh, you’re asking for it,” you say, bending down to gather your own snow.

What follows is a brief but spirited snowball fight, laughter ringing out into the quiet night. Quinn, as it turns out, is both fast and surprisingly accurate, though he’s careful not to pelt you too hard. You manage to land a shot right on his chest, and his mock-offended expression is priceless. Finally, breathless and grinning, you both call a truce. Quinn brushes the snow off his jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold.

“You’re pretty competitive,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“You bring it out of me,” you reply with a shrug, still smiling.

You both linger in the snow, his soft brown curls slowly becoming more decorated with the dropping snowflakes, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. With the snow falling softly and the world feels impossibly still. Quinn looks down at you, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression softer now.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, his breath visible in the cold. “No, thank you. For saying yes.”

For a moment, it feels like the world stops entirely. Then, Quinn reaches up, brushing a snowflake off your cheek before letting his hand linger, his thumb grazing your skin gently. Your breath catches, and before you can think, he’s leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s as soft and warm as the snow falling around you, his hands latching onto your sweater to pull you closer.

When he pulls back, his eyes search yours, his voice quiet. “Can I see you again?” 

You smile, your cheeks flushing, but this time it’s not from the cold. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

[sturnioz]

the aftermath of shy!reader's conversation with cherry leaves her feeling conflicted.

╰› PART ONE.

you turn the doorknob, pushing open the door to chris' room and stepping inside, closing it shut behind you with a soft click. the familiar scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mixed with the fruity scent of cherry's perfume which makes you feel a little claustrophobic.

your eyes shift around the room just as chris steps out of his bathroom, sliding his belt through the loops of his pants. you find yourself staring at him, as if searching for something—hints of what he and cherry were doing before you arrived. you know you shouldn't, but you can't help it.

why do you feel this urge to look for clues? you're unsure, but the need is there, pressing against your chest. you look for any signs—lipstick stains on his skin, hickeys, or scratch marks.

but there's nothing.

when chris finally notices your presence in the room, his eyes meet yours, and you can't help but notice how dilated his pupils are—he's clearly taken something.

"what you starin' at?" he asks bluntly, his eyebrows furrowing as he buckles his belt. "what took you s'long anyway? supposed to be here hours ago, kid."

you don't answer him, still staring, your mind racing with thoughts that you're struggling to control. you don't know why this seems to be bothering you so much. you're just sleeping together—you're hooking up—nothing more, nothing less like he always says.

yet the urge to just know feels overwhelming.

why does it matter to you so much? it shouldn't. it shouldn't. it shouldn't.

the mantra runs through your mind like a desperate plea as you replay the image of cherry stepping out of his room, her thumb wiping away the smudged lipstick around her lips. it twists something uncomfortable within you, and you stiffen up, tightening your fingers around your bag.

chris narrows his eyes at you as he walks over, a hint of irritation crossing his features. "i'm talkin' to you, kid. you gonna say somethin' or what?"

"i got caught up," you murmur, fumbling for a response. you flex your fingers, which ache from gripping the bag too tightly, and you watch as he takes it from your grasp and tosses it carelessly on the bed, a few of his baggies and scattered dollar bills that bouncing from the sudden weight.

as he walks over to the bed to collect his stuff, you can't help but still watch him as rolls the dollar bills up and tosses them into the ceramic dish on his bedside table—the same dish that holds his earrings and necklaces.

he then picks up a few baggies filled with multicoloured pills and white powder, shoving them into his pocket without second thought before reaching for his pre-rolls.

suddenly, you hear chris hiss sharply through his teeth. "ah.. you fuckin' bitch.."

your eyes widen a little, thinking that his harsh words are directed at you. confusion floods your mind, and you open your mouth to ask why he called you such a thing, but the words die in the back of your throat when he picks up a joint—terribly rolled and half-smoked with red lipstick staining the skins.

chris' expression darkens as he examines the joint, irritation etched across his features. "knew she fuckin' did this shit. leavin' her alone in here with my shit—"

"who?" you cut in, even though you already knew who he's talking about. you just thought now might be a good time to get some answers to the questions lingering in your head.

"fuckin' cherry. came in 'ere to get her pills 'n smoked my shit while i was in the bathroom," chris snaps, his frustration clear. "she thinks she's sneaky, kid, but she don't realise her fuckin' lipstick stains everythin' she puts her lips on.. dumb fuckin'—"

as he continues to vent, you block out his words, your mind racing as everything begins to slowly fall into place. cherry had taken a hit of chris' joint, that's why she had been wiping the lipstick smudges around her lips earlier.

she didn't kiss him.

she didn't put her lips on him.

the realisation hits you, and oddly, it makes you feel somewhat relaxed—the tension in your shoulders easing, and you find yourself letting out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding in. all chaos thoughts of your earlier feelings begin to settle, replaced by a strange comfort in knowing that nothing happened.

"what you smilin' for? shit ain't funny, kid." chris glares at you with his dilated pupils, and truthfully, you hadn't even realised you were smiling until it pointed it out. "i don't let people smoke for free, alright? 'cos—'cos this shit cost money 'n i'm not the type of person that just—"

"you're pissed off." you cut him off, unable to wipe the smile from your lips. the worlds spill out before you can stop them, and you can see the slight surprise flicker across his face, looking taken aback at the suddenness of your cursing as his eyebrows knit together.

"yeah.. yeah m'pissed off..." chris replies slowly, his gazed fixed on you. "why are you findin' this funny, kid? huh? 'cos i'm not laughin'."

you don't respond again, caught in a giddy mood that feels almost foreign. it's such a strange relief to know that nothing happened between him and cherry. but then, another strange twinge of something follows behind—who are you to feel this way? you have no right.

you're just the hook-up, and yet here you are, feeling an unexpected sense of... joy? happiness? it feels absurd, but you can't help it.

as chris' agitation grows, so does your smile, which only seems to irritate him more. you can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of your reaction.

he continues to glare at you, and despite the tension, you find it difficult to suppress a giggle. was it from nervousness? awkwardness? relief? just how sill you feel in this moment? you can't pinpoint it, but the laughter escapes you anyway.

chris takes a step closer to you, his expression shifting as he prods his tongue against his cheek—a habit of when he's contemplating something. his hand rises, gripping your cheeks, which ache from your persistent smiling. "why are you laughin' at me?"

you try to respond, but your words come out slightly muffled due to his fingers pressing into your cheeks, "i'm just feeling good."

"good.." chris scoffs, shaking your head gently with his grip, but a smirk begins to creep onto his lips, an amused glint in his eyes. "gettin' off on my frustration, bun? my... my pain turnin' you on? you freak."

his tone sends a shiver down your spine and warmth to your cheeks. your shyness immediately floods back in, making it hard for you to hold his gaze as you look away with a thick swallow, now becoming aware of how close he actually is to you—how the heat of his body radiates against yours.

he hums lowly, the sound reverberating, and loosens his grip to pat your cheek, "it's uh... s'too bad that m'not gonna do anythin' about it. was waitin' for you earlier but you never showed, had to get myself off so... gonna have to make you do that same, bun."

your breath catches in your throat, your heart racing as you process what he's suggesting. the warmth in your cheeks deepens and spreads, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you fidget on the spot.

"chris..." you whisper weakly.

the way he's looking at you at you right now makes you feel so exposed and vulnerable, sending butterflies swirling in your stomach as he tilts his head slightly, the smirk still present on his lips as he studies you.

"everyones gonna have to wait to get their fix, bun.." chris murmurs, his hand curling around your shirt as he slowly drags you towards the bed. "i got a pretty lil' show to watch from you first, yeah?"

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[nonuify]

ᝰ.ᐟ 📞 — C.SC ; ! boyfriend headcanons.

sfw & nsfw is included ! minors do not interact 18+. this took me a while but haha finally nonuify debut !!

📓 ! he would be so shy like what ?? u would also mistake him for being cold for pda but he’s just shy lol

📓 ! he would start to warm up eventually into becoming really clingy to u and take u two would go out on cute lil dates every week and ofc yall would hold hands 24/7

📓 ! texting about your and his day is must in your guys’s relationship like imagine him being pouty for not texting him u would just melt ughhh

📓 ! facetime-ing u always when he’s away on tour or other business activities till one of u are asleep he’s just loves & misses u so much </3

📓 ! you are his muse for taking pics of you alone or with him, he has a whole album of you obvi !

📓 ! u would let him do the pink bow w his arms trend (we all know he would do it for u.)

📓 ! he will spoil you. no matter how much u protest he won’t care and will still buy u gifts flowers anything he will treat his princess only with luxury !!!

📓 ! his pet-names for u are “baby , princess, doll, angel” but mostly calls u by your name or a nickname of y/n.

📓 ! bf cheol would let kkuma stay w you while he’s busy (congrats you are now an official parent)

📓 ! will always be there for u in your ups and downs such a comforting aura to be around with, will never stop cuddling and kissing u till you feel better.

📓 ! high-key a possessive bf would hold ur waist or ass ALWAYS.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ nsfw starting from this point.

📓 ¡ remember me saying he would spoil you? yeah would buy you a pretty necklace or some elegant looking lingerie and would fuck you silly in it. he would groan in your ear and say “my precious princess looks so cute with all the things i spoil her in.” and ofc he would fuck you in-front of a mirror while saying that??

📓 ¡ he would be either a meanie or softie in bed depending which he’s feeling (and what your feeling ofc!!)

📓 ¡ is such an ass person like he would take you doggy-style and spank your ass or grab it might bite it tbh…

📓 ¡ would leave marks all over you body especially your boobs/neck & would admire his work

📓 ¡ he has such a BIG bulge kink oh my god. while fucking would see your pretty tears fall and press your tummy to see his head poking it letting out the most sultry moan known to man.

📓 ¡ carfucking is one of his fav spots to fuck in lol

📓 ¡ phone-sex is a must when he’s busy, but when he can’t call u. would probs masturbate with ur panties n send a pic of the aftermath.

📓 ¡ but he is such a romantic tho he will make love to you and whisper the most sweetest thing a person could say :(

📓 ¡ the best after-care u could think of. a warm bath for you is always ready when u guys are done, kisses, cuddles & sweet words are the most important!! in the end we all know cheol is a sucker for his lover </3.

! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ thank you for reading >ᴗ< !!

[astraystayyh]

hyunjin with glasses and a tiny ponytail brainrot

fluff and kissing and Hyune is too pretty and suggestive in the end (so mdni)

also can you tell I'm obsessed with the imagery of hyunjin and lipstick stains????? this is a recurrent theme atp

you're sitting on the bathroom countertop, knees tightly hugged to your chest as hyunjin brushes his teeth next to you. it's a bit silly, you admit, to watch in silence while he completes the most mundane tasks. but every second spent not looking at him feels like a wasted one to you.

"put this on for me?" he suddenly asks, his golden necklace dangling between his fingers, a sweet smile brightening his face. you nod, as hyunjin hands you the dainty chain and turns his back to you.

you swiftly clasp the necklace in place, before letting your fingers trail across the nape of his neck. "your hair's gotten longer," you remark, as you gently brush your hand through it.

"mm. do you like it?" he asks. and by the grin that can be heard in his voice, he already knows the answer to this.

"i do. very pretty," you whisper, as you gather a small section of his hair and twist it into a tiny ponytail. hyunjin turns around once you're done, and you pull him closer by the hem of his black cashmere shirt.

he's standing between your legs, strong, toned arms are on either side of your body as you tuck away some strands of his bangs, framing his face with them.

his eyes soften once they finally meet yours and you grin sheepishly at the impromptu hair updo, "you should put your hair up more often."

hyunjin tilts his head to the side, bringing his face closer to yours in the process. and you're suddenly blushing, profusely. you can't help it, not when he looks this pretty, his leg nudging your thigh every now and then. "it seems like you love my hair too much," he pouts, gently taking off your glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose.

"does these fit me too?" he questions, his thumb rubbing featherlight circles on your bare knee. you can't speak, words elusive as your eyes run wild over his face.

you don't know exactly how you ended up this way- caged between his arms and dazed by how perfect he looks. you didn't even know that a tiny ponytail and a pair of glasses would affect you this much. but he's dizzying, in the most delicious way, and you suddenly don't want him to go out anymore.

"what? cat got your tongue," he smirks, as he grazes your cheek gently. the contrast between his mocking words and gentle touch puts your body on overdrive. it feels like a flame is blazing across your skin and yet you're floating in cold water.

"excuse me for being attracted to my boyfriend," you finally respond, tucking strands of his bangs behind his ear. "you can't really blame me, can you?" you chastise, your lips grazing the corner of his mouth. "not when you look like this."

"like what?" he giggles, before pressing his rosy lips onto yours.

"too pretty," you whisper against his mouth and he smiles onto the kiss, his hands finding your waist and holding it gently.

"i know how to make you prettier though," you grin secretly and he cocks an eyebrow at you in response. "close your eyes, for me. please, hyune?"

hyunjin knows he might run late if he doesn't leave in a few minutes, but he can never say no to you. so he closes his eyes, letting darkness surround him as he hears you rummage through a nearby drawer.

after a few, quiet seconds, you make hyunjin stand between your legs once again. your warm hands cradle his face, and then you press the softest kiss onto his lips. then his cheeks. his forehead. and the corner of his mouth. you kiss the tip of his nose and he goes to remove his glasses, but you stop him. "leave them on."

hyunjin's eyes are still closed, as your hands trail down his chest, before curling around his neck. that's where you place your next kiss, right where his pulse is wildly beating. you then move to the sensitive skin under his ear, and you can feel the goosebumps running across his body. "seems like I'm not the only one affected here."

"I never claimed not to be affected by you," he shrugs, and the sincerity of his statement makes the butterflies in your stomach surge ten times fold.

"open your eyes," you finally say, moving hyunjin to the mirror next to you, quiet giggles escaping your lips. there, he finds your red lipstick imprints all over his face, down the curve of his neck. soft kisses scorched into his skin, sealed in there forever.

"see, this is the prettiest you've ever been, baby."

hyunjin shakes his head, before standing in front of you again. there is a fond smile on his face as he runs his thumb across your red lips, where your lipstick is surely smudged by now. "you know i need to go out, right?"

"this should send off anyone who'll try to talk to you."

"as if I'll ever look at anyone else but you."

"you can't keep saying things like this and expect me not to pass out."

"then what should i do?" hyunjin smirks down at you, as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"you should stay home and ruin my lipstick even more."

"will the glasses stay on?" hyunjin muses, as he finally picks you up, his hands holding your thighs securely. you won.

"they will."

"and the ponytail too?"

"mm.." you run your fingers through his hair, tugging at it gently. "it will."

"i should've never asked you to help with my necklace," hyunjin chuckles as he leads you to your bedroom.

"why, do you regret this?" you question playfully and he shakes his head, lowering you onto the bed gently.

"no. not even a little bit."

[yandere-sins]

Yandere!Aventurine who takes jewelry from corpses he stumbles over to give it to you.

Warnings: Yandere, Mentioning of Death/Blood/Bodies/Murder/Piercing his darling/Choking

Yandere!Aventurine who wraps his hands around the corpse's neck to measure whether the necklaces will fit you or not. He knows what size your throat is well enough, but he doesn't mind picking up necklaces that are a little too small. Just a little too tight so he can properly collar you. Bonus points if they have something dangling from them in the front with which he can play.

Yandere!Aventurine who doesn't mind the blood on the gold as he tears out earrings from the corpses he finds. It would be a waste to leave them, wouldn't it? You'd look so good with more gold dangling from your body. He chuckles to himself as he thinks about you in nothing but the gold he draped over you. And maybe his coat—if he's feeling frisky. Ratio might call him a peacock, but you'll be a piece of art if you'd let him decorate you as he pleased.

Yandere!Aventurine who checks every ring and brooch for inscriptions, clicking his tongue and trashing them when he finds any. It's wasted metal, but at least he can remove the gems from their settings. That should be just enough money to win you a new, prettier ring if he plays his cards right. One that he can slip on your finger and kiss reverently every time before he leaves.

Yandere!Aventurine who watches the dolled-up people swaggering around the casinos he visits, checking out their jewelry and searching for sets with real jewels that he can bring home. Not every corpse is dead, yet when he imagines what you'd look like in their necklace-earring combo sprawled out on his satin sheets. They die quickly enough, though, and he keeps a pile of jewelry cleaner at home, so you'll be none the wise where it comes from.

Yandere!Aventurine who sometimes doesn't bring food home, but at least he got a new piercing to put on your body (you'll learn to keep still after the first few he placed). He makes sure that one day, when you have learned to behave and cling to his arm no matter where he goes, everyone being so envy of what is his. He can't always win in a gamble, but how could he ever be a loser when he's got you, sparkling to the nines, all to himself?